


beauty may sometimes walk alone

by airbefore



Category: Castle
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airbefore/pseuds/airbefore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night spent with him, close but never close enough, has left her drowning. Suffocating under the weight of repressed emotion and raging arousal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beauty may sometimes walk alone

She crawls into bed, the crisp sheets cold against her naked skin. A night spent with him, close but never close enough, has left her drowning. Suffocating under the weight of repressed emotion and raging arousal. Her skin is too tight. It squeezes her muscles, crushes her bones. Her body aches. Aches for freedom, for comfort, for redemption.

For him.

The ceiling swims above her and she closes her eyes, trades the lonely expanse of white for a daunting cave of black. His face floats through her memory, soft and open. Blue eyes bright and wide, dancing with the secret smile he reserves for her alone. The echo of his voice taunts her, teases her with broken words pieced together into hopeful phrases that promise something more. Something better.

A white hot flame blazes in her chest, consumes her, turns her heart to ash. It steals the air she sucks down, uses her desperation as fuel. The inferno spreads, licking its way through her veins, invading her traitorous body. Arms, legs, fingers and toes all tingle with the anticipation of surrender, the inevitable pain overshadowed by the tantalizing promise of release.

Her hands wander, seeking to snuff out the traveling fire yet serving only to stoke it higher. Chills race across her skin, following the trail carved by the hard press of her fingers. She rolls her head, tries to escape the the feeling of her rebellious hand skating down her abdomen. Her fingers skip and pinch across her stomach and breasts, punishment for losing the battle. For giving in to her desires.

The muscles in her hips twitch when she drags her hands across her thighs, pierces the sensitive skin with her nails. She should be stronger than this. She has no right to this fantasy. To him. But the thought of his mouth - the soft lips and talented tongue she longs for - spurs her on, drives her into her arousal. Parting herself with two fingers, she bites down on the inside of her cheek, lets the bitter sting of copper wash away the taste of his name on her tongue.

She swirls her fingers through the wetness he’d created in the dark corner booth at The Old Haunt. She can still smell him; the sharp bite of his cologne when he leaned across her, the smoky hint of expensive whiskey on his breath as he murmured sarcastic comments into her ear. Can still feel the warm press of his fingertips against the small of her back, the glancing softness of the chaste goodnight kiss he pressed to her cheek when he walked her to her car. He’s etched onto her skin, carved into her chest, branded onto her heart.

She assaults her body the way he assaults her senses, slamming two fingers into herself, digging her nails into her breast. Her hips buck and twist under the sheet, the fabric too soft against her fevered skin. Too gentle. She can’t take it. Hard and rough, she thrusts into herself, retribution for her body’s betrayal.

The rush of pleasure begins to flutter in her stomach and she fights against it, tries desperately to ward it off. She doesn’t want it like this anymore. Her hands where his should be, her mouth lonely and unkissed, her ragged breathing the only soundtrack to her pleasure. She wants him. Needs him.

Isn’t ready for him.

She loses the battle with her orgasm, never really stood a chance. It rips through her, harsh and unrelenting. Her muscles clench and spasm, pushing his name past the steel cage of her teeth. She rolls to the side, curls in on herself, hand still thrusting between her thighs, and rides the violent waves of her orgasm, cursing into the pillow beneath her head.

The rush subsides and her muscles relax. The cool night air caresses her flushed skin, returning her to herself. She shivers and tugs the blanket back up, cocoons her body in its warmth, tries to block out the fantasy of wrapping up in his arms instead. Her eyes burn with tears she refuses to give birth to, her chest tight with longing and guilt. She wants more than this. More than the sad reality of coming home to nothing more than a cold bed and her own hand.

Kate closes her eyes, wills her mind to shut down. To give in to the pull of sleep. She knows she’ll dream about him, welcomes it. Her dreams are where she’s allowed to have the life she so desperately wants. She sighs and lets slumber slowly tug her under, his name her last conscious thought.

Castle. 


End file.
